Beg On Your Knees: Erasing My CEO Husband Chapter 08

Beg On Your Knees: Erasing My CEO Husband Chapter 08: Divorce Papers in the Spotlight

“Did you really think I would let you parade around with him?”
Julian whispered darkly.

I tasted the metallic salt of his blood against my skin. His hastily bandaged hand pressed firmly over my mouth. I didn’t scream. I didn’t fight his oppressive grip. I simply waited. The heavy silence stretched between us, thick with the intoxicating scent of his aged whiskey and expensive cologne.

He finally dropped his hand.

“Are you completely insane?” he demanded.

I shoved both my palms hard against his sternum. He stumbled backward, caught off guard. His dress shoes scraped loudly against the concrete floor.

“Keep your hands off me,” I said, my voice lethal. I reached down and confidently yanked the hem of my vintage slip dress straight. The fine silk had bunched around my thighs during his unhinged ambush.

“You are making a massive mistake tonight,” Julian warned, attempting to regain dominance. His voice echoed slightly in the cramped, dark space.

“Because I’m not wearing your jewelry?”

“Because you are humiliating my company in front of my investors.”

I let out a short, completely dry laugh. The sound bounced

mockingly off the metal shelving. “You humiliated yourself, Julian. I just showed up”.

He stepped closer. The overt anger in his posture miraculously vanished. He slipped effortlessly into that smooth, practiced negotiation tactic he used on hostile corporate boards.

“Clara, listen to me,” he murmured. His tone turned suddenly gentle, almost pleading. “I know you’re hurt. I know Paris was a shock”.

“A shock?” I repeated incredulously.

“It meant nothing. A stupid mistake under immense pressure.” He reached out. His uninjured hand hovered cautiously near my shoulder. “Come home. Get in the car right now, and I will forget this entire stunt with Elias. We can go back to normal”.

“Normal”.

“Yes. You have your charities. I have the firm. We are a team”.

“A team,” I echoed blankly. I stared piercingly at his shadowed face. “You really believe you can buy your way out of this”.

“I am offering you a way out,” he corrected smoothly. “Take it”.

“Or what?”

“Or I destroy him,” Julian stated flatly. “I will tear Elias Sterling’s company apart piece by piece, and I will make sure you watch”.

“Leave Elias out of this. This is about us”.

“There is no us if you walk back out there with him”.

“There hasn’t been an us since you let Seraphina into your hotel room”.

I turned the brass knob and yanked the heavy door open. The bright hallway light spilled over us, blindingly stark and revealing.

“Where are you going?” Julian snapped. His soft tone instantly evaporated into venom.

“To finish the stunt”.

I walked away. I didn’t check to see if he followed.

The heavy bass of the jazz band vibrated through the floorboards as I dramatically re-entered the ballroom. The air felt thick with expensive perfume and roasted meats. Elias stood near our VIP table. He scanned the crowd, holding two fresh drinks. He caught my eye.

I didn’t stop. I marched straight past the VIP tables. I bypassed the melting ice sculpture entirely. I walked directly up the carpeted stairs to the main stage.

The band leader lowered his trumpet in confusion. He frowned at me.

“Excuse me,” I told him authoritatively. I wrapped my fingers around the cold metal of the microphone and pulled it aggressively from the standing clip. A sharp screech of feedback pierced the room.

The music stopped abruptly. Five hundred heads snapped toward the stage instantly.

“Good evening,” I said. My voice boomed confidently through the massive speakers. It rang clear across the suddenly dead-silent ballroom. I reached into my small leather clutch. I pulled out a folded, thick stack of legal paper. The crisp white sheets contrasted sharply against my black dress.

“For those who haven’t spoken to me tonight, I’m Clara Whitmore.”

Whispers instantly flared up wildly in the front row.

“My husband, Julian Vance, loves to talk about transparency,” I continued. I unfolded the document, smoothing the creases against the podium. “He built his entire brand on the foundation of trust and family values”.

I located Julian in the crowd. He stood at the edge of the room, half-hidden in the shadows of a grand marble pillar.

“So, in the spirit of transparency, I thought I should share the latest Vance Global development”.

Below me, near the press pit, a woman in a headset frantically waved her arms. Chloe.

“Cut the mic!” Chloe screamed at the sound engineer.

The engineer scrambled for the soundboard, but I spoke faster.

“Pursuant to the laws of the State of New York,” I read loudly, ignoring the commotion, “I am filing for absolute divorce on the grounds of adultery”.

Gasps erupted from the tables. Cameras flashed, blinding me for a split second.

“Furthermore,” I pushed my voice louder to cut through the rising chaos, “I am petitioning for the immediate dissolution of the prenuptial agreement”.

More flashes went off. Shouts erupted furiously from the reporters.

“Get her off the stage!” a Vance PR representative yelled. He sprinted toward the stairs. Security guards scrambled. They hesitated, completely unsure if they should tackle the CEO’s wife in front of the press.

“I cite breach of fidelity clauses,” I announced, reading the bold print, “regarding the defendant’s ongoing affair with Vice President Seraphina Thorne”.

The entire room exploded into absolute madness. Journalists shoved past the velvet ropes aggressively. They thrust digital recorders into the air. The PR team formed a frantic barricade at the bottom of the steps, shouting orders into their radios. Chloe grabbed a security guard by the collar, pointing directly at me.

“Julian and I aren’t a model couple,” I said, leaning directly into the microphone for the final blow. “We are a crime scene, and I’m done cleaning up the blood”.

I dropped the microphone. It hit the wooden stage floor with a deafening thud.

Through the blinding strobe of flashbulbs, my eyes locked on Julian. He hadn’t moved from the shadows. His face was a mask of pure, lethal calculation. He stared at the court-stamped petition in my hand. His chest remained perfectly still. He had built his

empire on an impeccable reputation. I had just burned it to the
ground in under two minutes.

Julian tilted his head slightly. A terrifying, dead-eyed calm settled
over his features. He didn’t look like a man who had been
defeated. He looked like a man deciding how to bury a body.